


the man who loved the moon

by CkyKing



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fairy Tale Style, M/M, Self-Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 08:25:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10850187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CkyKing/pseuds/CkyKing
Summary: this is the story of a boy blessed by the night sky and of the warrior who loved him





	the man who loved the moon

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on [tumblr](http://ckyking.tumblr.com/post/160420971524/the-man-who-loved-the-moon). a fairy tale for nyx and noct~

At night, when Galahd’s coasts are bathed in silvery light, the hunters tell the story of the moon, and of the man that fell in love with it.

A long time ago, after the Astral War and Carbuncle’s retreat to what would be called Galahd one day, a boy was born and blessed by the deep black sky of Eos, for the stars themselves had fallen to the Gods’ rage. He was granted hair of spun silver and deepest ebony, so everyone would know him as the firmament given form, and eyes of the brightest blue, so they would never forget that with darkness came light.

His mother wept when she first held him in her arms, so tiny and perfect. She kissed his pudgy hands and his fragile eyelids with a heart full of both joy and sorrow; “My little star.” She called him, “My night sky.” You see, she had been wounded, his mother, in a battle that had nearly taken her husband from her and that she had won single-handedly at the cost of her health. 

The Lioness, she is called now. When the moon is hidden, and the sea is restless, she prowls the heavens on star-speckled paws, pushing back the darkness that would take her son from her. But at the time, she had just been a woman, filled with love and despair, for the Gods were never kind with their chosen.

His father, chieftain of their village, was a strong and kind leader; loved by his people and feared by his enemies. He too wept when he first saw this true miracle, his son, and promised that he would never let harm befall him as long as he lived. “The brightest light,  _ our _ brightest light.” He whispered against the child’s smooth brow, yet unmarred by pain and sorrow. 

That man became day’s brightest star, the Guide, always waiting, always ready to call his son home. It is him that we pray to when we wish to go back, him who accepts our prayers of safety. But it is not his story, not truly.

And so, she named him Noctis. And so, he named him Lucis. The light and the dark, so he may never be bereft.

He grew up loved, that child, never allowed past their territory’s limits; always looked after, always cared for. But he longed for adventures, for more than the place he called home.

Even so, he was content. He had his friends, his family, the myriad of people and beings he called his. Indeed, animals and monsters flocked to him; even the fierce Bennu, guardian of the skies; even fearsome Fenrir, guardian of the forests. He loved them, and they loved him back, always nearby when he called, always ready to lend a hand when he wished them to.

It soon became usual to see them prowling the village’s limits or circling above it, waiting for their child to visit them. During one of those visits, the boy got lost, and fierce Fenrir refused to lead him back as he always would for some strange reason.

Still, he did not worry, and continued pushing past the vegetation, knowing that something interesting would wait for him past the green barrier. 

He was not disappointed.

What greeted him was a sight he would never forget; the large expanse of water before him, glittering in thousands of colors that settled a yearning he had not known he harboured.

Throwing off his boots as he ran down to the shoreline, he left the safety of the trees for the first time in his life, and gleefully entered the sea’s domain. And oh, how sweet it was, how exhilarating to feel surrounded by something greater than him, as deep as the sky itself.

As he got closer, the waves grew stronger, stretching immaterial hands towards him and beckoning him closer. His companion watched from the forest’s shadows as the child, not even eight of age, encountered the one that had called and called for him for so long.

So lost was he in this new feeling, he did not noticed the man, if he could even be called that, that had been picking seashells on the beach, presents for his dear sister who had begged him for those jewels. This man, not yet eighteen of age, dark of hair and blue of eyes, noticed first the silver light that glinted off the boy’s hair, and second the current that pushed past his feet in unnatural ways.

Water twirled and spun around the boy, following his every movement and pulling silvery laughs out of him. Only quiet splashes, accompanied by gentle whispers, pulled him back of the improvised game he had been playing with a force nature.

He noticed first the blue-grey of the man’s eyes, so reminiscent of storm clouds, and second the beads woven in his hair; purple and blue, so unlike his own gold and black. The boy remembered his father’s words then, to never trust a human not of their clan, for they would try to steal him away, or worse. Still, the fear he expected never came, and neither did Fenrir’s warning growls. Reassured by this, he ventured a smile, which was returned by the warrior, his eyes full of gentle fascination.

Noctis had never met someone new in all of his life, hidden during the rare times merchants came to visit their village, and it was a whole new experience for him.

“You have pretty eyes.” He said innocently, looking up at the warrior.

“And you have pretty hair.” answered the warrior, kneeling to be closer to the child’s level, laying his precious burden carefully on the sand.

This is how they met.

As the boy of starlit hair soon came to learn, the warrior’s name was Nyx, from the territory that bordered theirs on the northern side. Nyx of the dark sky; Nyx, protector of the night sky. But this came later.

From this moment on, something fundamental, unseen but not unfelt, changed in the boy.

Every day, he would sneak out of the village and head to the sea, followed by either faithful Fenrir or benevolent Bennu, where he would meet Nyx. Boyish Nyx, always with a new story to make him laugh; kind Nyx, who would listen to his fear over his mother’s failing health; reckless Nyx, who always came back injured from his adventures.

As the boy grew older, he started learning healing from the elders, both to help his mother and his friend, who would always wave him off with a smile. As the boy grew older, his powers only increased, the night sky he had been born to wishing only to fill, and to be filled. As the boy grew older, rumors of his strength and of his powers spread through the surrounding islands.

Those whispers spoke of a man of great beauty, of his hands that could heal everything, of his laugh that pulled rain from the sky, of his feet that the sea longed to bathe.

They would never know of the boy who had refused to leave his uncle alone until he taught him how to fight. They would never know of the boy who came back bloody, proud of the treasures he had fought to bring back. They would never know of the boy who looked up at the dark, dark sky and wished to see it filled with stars.

But most all, they would never know the story of a warrior and of a healer, who had never stopped meeting across the years.

Inevitably, as it always happens in those stories, their peaceful life was broken.

In the boy’s, now man’s, twenty-third year of life, and envoy from broken Solheim came to his village, and asked them to hand over their starlit boy, for their king wished this prize to be his.

Of course, and it is obvious to everyone, they refused.

The envoy was sent back unharmed, but soon, more and more came, their demands growing louder and angrier, the number of guards growing and growing.

All of them were refused, all of them were sent back, intact, or in pieces, for the Guide and the Lioness would not abide threats to their son. They stopped coming after this, and they sighed in relief for they thought it was over.

Except, the jealous king’s heart had grown darker and darker with want, and his kingdom had gone dark with it. And so, in the middle of the night, came the first attacks. From future Cavaugh, from future Lucis, the daemons came, again and again, only held back by the barrier slumbering Carbuncle had laid over his territory.

But the attacks kept coming, and soon, the entire island was at war. The warrior and the healer’s clans came together under one banner, united against a common threat.

On Fenrir’s back, Nyx led his warriors in battle, blades at the ready. On Bennu’s back, Noctis attacked from the sky, hurling water and light, spinning storms of hail and thunder.

But it was too much. Noctis knew that he would survive, for the dark sky would never let him go, and he begged his father, his mother, his friends to forget him, to give him up. They refused. He begged his warrior to take another as a lover. He refused.

Left with no other choice, tears shining in the darkness, Noctis _chose_ , on the beach where his heart had finally stopped yearning.

With one last kiss, one last desperate kiss, the starlit boy said goodbye, and slit his own throat on his warrior’s blades. From his blood and his lover’s heartbroken screams were born scarlet scarlilies, so bright in the darkness, a plea to come home and to stay shouted in the night.

And the sky, who had been calling for so long, finally welcomed back its child with open arms. His silver hair and his pale skin became the moon, with its scars a reflection of the raised strips of flesh traced again and again by loving fingers.

Mirror to the sun, so the night sky would not be alone again. Mirror to the sun, so the daemons could be banished. Mirror to the sun, to bathe the world in light and soften its edges.

His loved ones were safe, but at the cost of their broken hearts, and what a shame that was. Still, he would do it again and again, to save them all.

But the warrior was left all alone, holding the healer’s body. He could do nothing but cry and rage and beg as it slowly turned into flickers of light that grazed his skin, just once, before ascending to the sky. And this is where the stars that you see right now came from. The others? They came from Noctis’ family, his friends, his people, whose wishes and hopes joined him and filled the night sky just as he had always wanted, to keep him company. But now, back to our warrior.

Awakened by his pleas, Carbuncle appeared to the warrior, green and red in a ruination of black and white.

“Please, take me.” He begged the Astral, “You can take anything from me, but please, not him.”

The Astral, who had felt the boy’s fragile life grow from his realm of dreams was saddened by this sacrifice, but could not do anything. But the warrior refused to take this as an answer.

Turning his face from the sky, from the divine, he shouted at the moon’s first love, at the sea whose wails echoed in the fierce winds, in the storms that battered the land in its sadness.

He shouted, and the sea heard. Nyx would never love the sea as Noctis did, and the sea would never love Nyx as it did Noctis. Still, they understood each other.

And so, the warrior walked into the sea, never looking back even once, and the sea swallowed him whole.

Now, you know why the sea follows the moon’s whims; why it stretches its waves as high as it can, in the hope of reaching who he loves the most. You know why it is at its fiercest when the moon is hidden from it, why it rages and screams in the dark. You know why scarlilies are to picked only on moonless nights, for it is there they glow the brightest.

But do not despair, for there is hope in this story. 

It is said that, when the moon is high and the sea is calm, when its darkness turn into a mirror of the sky, the warrior and the healer, Nyx and Noctis meet again. On this very beach where they first met, they dance together like they used to, and the sea sings high and sweet, for it is finally happy again.

But let me tell you a secret, the hunter says, salt-and-pepper hair glinting in the firelight. There are other things that no one would know about the man-who-became-the-sea and the man who-became-the-moon.

They were married, you see, the healer and the warrior. Not officially, not known by anyone but the two of them, but married nonetheless.

There were things they never told anyone, at least not until now. The languid kisses they shared, hidden in the trees. The way the starlit boy glowed under his lover’s hands. The fierceness with which they loved each other. Their songs hummed against bare throats. Their devotion sharp enough to rend the stars.

But it is a secret, and you must never repeat it.

The hunter’s hair glint silver for a moment, and his blue eyes are filled with life. The sea is laughing behind him, and the moon is benevolently looking down on them all.

A wink, a smile, and he is gone.


End file.
